4. The Maid
The entire household of Baron Belpharos had gathered in front of the manor to see Olens off as he departed early that morning. The baroness, in particular, seemed reluctant to let her only son go so far away.
Before boarding the carriage, Olens promised to return in the winter. The baroness kissed both his cheeks and embraced him tightly, while the baron clapped him on the shoulder and wished him a safe journey. Olivier stood a few steps back, her hands demurely clasped, watching quietly.
Noticing her, the baroness took Olivier by the arm and led her to Olens. Olivier stood before her brother with a darkened expression. Olens placed both hands on her shoulders and drew her into a gentle embrace.
"Next time I see you, you'll be even more mature, won't you? I'm looking forward to it."
Olivier's face hardened coldly at his words, but Olens just smiled and pulled her into a full hug. When the embrace finally ended, he stared intently at her for a long moment as she kept her eyes fixed on the ground. The baroness urged him on—it was time to leave.
"No matter how much you two bicker, there's still that sibling bond, isn't there, Olivier? Your brother cares for you so much."
The baroness said this with a pleased smile, watching the carriage pull away through the manor gates. Olivier grimaced without replying.
After the send-off, Emily headed to the servants' quarters on the second floor. Using the key Sarah had given her on her first day, she unlocked the door and set down the worn suitcase she'd packed from the young miss's room. The room she hadn't visited in three months reeked of stale dust, just as it had before. It needed airing out immediately.
Directly across from the door at the far end was a large window—far too large, in fact. On her first chaotic day, she'd only noted its presence, not its size. Emily crossed the room to it. Up close, the window was as tall as the door itself. Starting at knee height from the floor, it was nearly big enough for a person to climb through.
Peering out, she understood why. Beyond the glass lay a terrace. Emily opened the window and leaned out toward it. The terrace was spacious enough for hanging laundry or storing belongings, but it stretched out remarkably long. Curious, she climbed through onto it.
The terrace ran the length of all the servants' rooms, which they shared. Hers was the third of four, and from where she stood, she could see all four windows in a row. Driven by curiosity, Emily moved along it.
The rooms on either side of hers were empty. Reaching the first window—Lotte's—she saw it half-open for ventilation, revealing a neatly kept interior. Neither Lotte nor Emily spent daytime hours in their rooms, always attending the family until dinner, so it made sense they'd be vacant. Emily shrugged.
If the rooms were visible like this from outside, she'd have to keep them spotless or draw the curtains from now on. Back inside, she gave the place a quick clean and unpacked. By the time she'd folded her clothes into the wardrobe, noon had passed.
She couldn't waste her precious day off on chores. Hurriedly changing from her maid uniform into everyday clothes, Emily left the manor. At a general store near the village hall, she bought new outfits for her parents. Then, at the grocer's, she picked up salt-cured smoked pork, her father's favorite vegetables, apples, and two chickens before heading home.
Marie greeted her warmly. Emily set the bags down and sank into a wooden chair, looking around. The house was just as she'd left it: the cauldron over the hearth, the rough-hewn wooden table and chairs, even the long bench for lounging.
"Oh, you brought chickens, Emily. How about spicy braised chicken for dinner?"
Marie beamed as she unpacked. Emily nodded from her seat. The hard seat felt strangely unfamiliar against her bottom. After just a few months on noble cushioned furniture, her body had adapted—sitting on bare wood made her ache. She gave a wry smile at the thought. The house hadn't changed, but she had.
While Emily sat lost in thought, Marie moved the vegetables to the rickety wooden shelves in the kitchen. Finally, she picked up the paper-wrapped dried pork and approached Emily, eyeing her appraisingly.
"My, I didn't notice at the manor, but coming here makes the difference so clear. You're sitting higher in the chair now. Must've shot up during your time there. Your bed might even feel small soon. We'll have your father make a new one."
Marie held her hand above Emily's head, gauging her height. When Emily stood straight, Marie gazed at her daughter—now just a bit below eye level—and exclaimed proudly.
"You've really grown, Emily."
She stroked her short hair. Emily had grown taller, her figure subtly changing, but her haircut was the same clumsy short style Marie had given her since childhood.
"Why not grow your hair out now? It's so short, you still look like a boy from behind."
"No, Mother. I wear a bonnet for work anyway. Short is easier to manage."
"I suppose... But when you're a bit older, you should grow it to suit your age."
Marie said awkwardly before heading to the kitchen. The house was simple: the main living area with the hearth, parents' room to the right, kitchen and bath to the left, and Emily's small room off the kitchen.
Emily recalled the wooden bed her father had made years ago, sized for her then-height. It might not fit now. As evening fell, Chris returned from the mine. The reunited family gathered around the rough table, enjoying Marie's spicy chicken stew, simple stir-fried vegetables, and bread.
Chris lavishly praised the food, lauding Marie's skills. She credited the ingredients Emily had bought, turning the praise back on her daughter. Chris cut in firmly.
"No, it's truly your cooking—best in the village. Gary, Mark, everyone says so. Right, Emily?"
Emily nodded.
"Yes, Mother's cooking is wonderful. Better than anything at the manor."
"You could open a restaurant and succeed," Chris added.
Marie blushed shyly at the compliments. After the meal, in the warm atmosphere, they lounged on the long bench and chairs, sharing fruit and chatting idly. Chris brought up some news.
"Word is, the owner of the Sorren Mine in Auzeciras has changed. It was always underproducing for its size, barely breaking even. But a new owner means something's up."
Marie asked while paring an apple.
"Good news?"
"Yes. New ownership brings investment, jobs, vitality. Auzeciras is just an hour away—if it booms, we'll feel it here. The new owner's a high noble from Ashtown, Baron Loren."
Emily pictured the elderly Baron Loren she'd seen at the manor. His accent differed slightly from locals—he was from Ashtown. Scren Mine had been under Count Mercier's ownership for thirty years, drawing workers from Templton, so most spoke with that inflection. She hadn't realized his promise to return with his grandchildren meant acquiring the neighboring mine.
"A baron—like our Count Mercier?"
Marie asked curiously. Chris shook his head.
"Not exactly. Even among barons, imperial ranks vary slightly. Count Mercier's lived here since youth, so his status is lower. Baron Loren's prominent in Ashtown."
Nobles were distant anyway, so the topic shifted quickly. As they chatted late into the night, Emily bid her parents goodnight and slipped into her room off the kitchen. The familiar drawer for clothes and her father's straw-stuffed mattress frame stood as before. Mother had cleaned; it was in good shape.
Emily climbed in. As expected, her growth pressed her toes against the footboard, so she curled up sideways. The dim room felt strangely foreign after just months away. She'd stayed here last leave too, but exhaustion from helping Mother had knocked her out instantly.
Tonight, the shrunken bed kept her restless. Lying awake in the dark, she heard wind whistling through the crudely patched wooden walls. After a while, amid the gusts, a faint unfamiliar sound caught her ear.
Straining to listen, it seemed like a distant animal cry—or perhaps human. As the wind died, the low, intermittent noise clarified. She wouldn't have recognized it before, but now she could. It came from her parents' room.
Realizing what it was, Emily squirmed in embarrassment. The ill-fitting bed only added to her discomfort. Next leave, she'd just eat dinner here and sleep at the manor, she decided. She was no longer a child who could ignore such sounds as mere wind. A strange melancholy settled in her heart that night.